


Cubed

by laxmi



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-27
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-08-08 09:11:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16426532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laxmi/pseuds/laxmi
Summary: Conscious of the lukewarm moistness between her shanks skin and the straw mat, the exuding dampness on her palms, and the threads of bangs clinging to her greasy forehead, Sarah understood that the air conditioner had turned off automatically according to the time she had set before she went to bed. She unconsciously started calculating what time it could possibly be now—normally, she went to bed at a quarter to twelve, and set the air conditioner to work for three hours before it switched off; and since it was before dawn with no sunlight, it usually took longer time before the cooled air being heated up again—she came to the conclusion that it was around five in the morning. Her cell phone which was never off but was forever silent was placed beside her pillow. She knew that to turn around, open her eyes, and unlock the phone to verify her supposition of what time it was now was the unwisest thing; it would only make her wide awake. So she remained still in her bed, eyes shut, trying to forget the heat in the room, and urging herself to fall asleep again as quickly as possible. One second’s wake means one second’s waste. She had to ensure enough rest before the clock went off, alarming her a new day of work.





	1. Chapter 1

Against the blue hue outside the platform, dark figures were walking back and forth under the roof of the station, searching for buses heading to their destinations respectively. The sun had long set at this time of the day; yet thanks to longer days in summer, soft blue lingered in the sky, casting a subdued grey on the tired faces of the bus-takers.

  
Sarah was waiting in a queue by a snack stall, whose yellow neon logo and warm fluorescent lights distinguished itself against the darkening corridors. The aroma of fried eggs expanded in the air, mixed with the unpleasant smell of the exhaust emitted by passing buses, and the humming of her stomach echoed to the sizzling of hot oil in frying pans. She knew her body was asking for food, but recently she seemed to lose the ability to enjoy meals as she had done before; eating was merely a way to sustain herself to stand, move, speak, work, and live—but wasn’t that the original purpose of eating? When had consuming food been associated with being happy? She thought she might be ill, but she knew she got no cold or fever or any other disease with the symptom of ‘lack of appetite’. She could eat, and eating was not happy. But since when had not feeling happy with meals been considered ill?

The blue hue thinned out, and the night was like an inky fog seeping in the air. A sudden flash of headlights dazzled her and when she recovered, she noticed the No.317 bus was nearing to fetch them. As if a heavy weight was lifted from it, the bus let out a loud puff, its body sank a little and then steadied itself at the port in front of the queue she was standing in. The door slid open, and the black queue started moving forward. Sarah slipped her bag in front of her chest and tucked her right hand into its side pocket. Her finger quickly identified the rough surface of her metro card and then seized it. She walked up the steps at the entrance to the bus, took out her card and pressed it on the sensor. ‘Ding’, after she had successfully paid for her ride, she tucked the card back to its place and turned to look for a seat. The light on the bus was still off, and she could hardly see the inside. She kept moving in, and from the orange light outside the window casting vaguely into the bus, she noticed a seat by the window at the back—her favorite one at a night ride, where she could look outside without bothers of giving ‘seats to the elderly, pregnant women, the disabled, and children’ (which was repeated by the electric announcer in the bus during the whole trip)—was still empty. She quickened her pace and reached it.

The engine started, and the pale white light on the bus flickered on. This was her last transfer during the whole trip; before it she had had two. In thirty minutes, she would arrive at the Lucky Flower station, from which she would walk to her apartment.

She stared at the outside of the window. The sky had turned dark and the street was a stream of lights. The humming of engines, the honking of cars, the rattling of bus windows--she tuned in to the surrounding sounds and felt herself part of the world outside. The LED-decorated skyscrapers on the opposite side of the bank came into view—green, white, blue, red light dots, outlining the various shapes of buildings, their reflections shimmering on the river. Under the bridge a dark silhouette slowly broke the peace of water, followed by a trail of ripples sluggishly pushing apart the dimly-lit surface. It was a small cargo ship sailing west. The red lights on top of its mast breathed slow. She gazed at the ship, until the dark shape became smaller and smaller, and finally, beyond the corner of her eyes. When she turned her head to face forward, the bus was almost at the exit of the bridge, glinting red neon lights ahead welcoming people coming from the other side of the river.

She got off the bus and immediately felt the tepid summer breeze brushing across her skin. It might have been at least three hours since she left her work. It usually took her longer on the return trip due to a traffic jam. She turned right around a furniture shop and into a small road peripheral to nearby communities screened from the boisterous outside by a tall row of shopping buildings. Since this road was not defined as a charged parking place, many residents parked their cars along both sides of the road, making it even narrower. There were few lights in this area; yet by the dark shapes of cars and the dim reflection of their metallic outlines, Sarah could recognize their dimensions and threaded her way through. Walking past cars and feeling the heat radiated from the solid entities, she could easily tell which was recently parked and which was not. A bony white cat with large orange spots on its back was sniffing tentatively at the litter spilled out of a rubbish bin. Upon hearing the dull crunching of gravels under her shoes, it slipped under the shade of the closest car and vanished.

This morning Mrs. Brandon asked her if she decided to buy a car for the commute. She would be lying if she said she had not thought about buying a car. Both her parents didn’t have good legs, and with a car, she could drive them to where they wanted to go or where she wanted to go with them, reducing the distance of walking, saving the time of waiting for buses, and shielding themselves from the scorching sun or wuthering winds. Her chest twisted at recollecting those condescending gazes at her poor parents since she was a child.

However, thinking of the number printed in her account, even though she had the money to buy a car, she could not afford a permanent parking lot near her apartment or her home, both far from her working place. Parking a car outside like those she was in presence of was unacceptable for her parents. “How can you park so much money out there?” was their answer.

She saw her shadow shrinking as she walked, feeling the sporadic gravels pressing against the bottom of her shoes. She flicked a glance upward, and saw a rusty streetlight ahead, like an old man, dozing off, lowering his heavy eyelid. Under his dim light parked a sharp and smart private car that was rarely seen in the street. When she walked close enough, she narrowed her eyes, and a small line under its red-forked logo read: MASERATI.

She guessed the car was expensive, but it meant nothing to her since it was not hers. Sarah did not think a car was necessary. Public transport was cheap and convenient here. But the most important point was, the time she spent on public transport was the time she felt she was comfortably relaxed to think whatever she wanted to think. She was released from the tiresome work, away from her acquainted workmates, refusing any incoming business calls and messages; she could sit in a place with complete strangers, bearing no obligations to each other. Would a car strip her of such hard-won privacy? If time was money, wasn’t she a little extravagant on her time since she spent at least one sixth of a day on thinking fruitless things?

How silly. A short chuckle escaped her throat and died in the dark silence.

 


	2. Chapter 2

A long stare at the flashing views outside the bus made her eyes dry. Sarah shut her eyes but did not turn away from the window. She leaned her forehead on the right wrist, with her elbow resting on the window frame to support her head. It was now only two crossroads away from the bus stop at which she usually got off. But it was late. It was later than expected. She heard her empty stomach churning inside. There should not have been a traffic jam at this hour. But the main street was under a large-scale reconstruction that might prolong the congestion. The bus moved unhurriedly on its route. It dragged to a stop in front of a crossing. The tired groan of the engine ebbed to a listless hum, with other vehicles lining up behind waiting for the traffic light to turn green. A song flowed out of the bus radio and replaced the rhythmic rattling of windows, filling the short break between signals.

The prelude.

The evening.

The shadows.

The campus

The song.

The students.

The milk tea.

The entrance.

Everything on the racks seemed to beam quietly under the warm yellow light in the grocery. Calbee chips in black. Edo biscuits in blue. Hakka peanuts in piles. A girl wearing a summer dress bending her knees to pick up a pack of cereals. A boy and a girl in a relationship reading the ingredients of a drink. Two shop assistants in green chatting about their families while one of them toying with a potato in her hand.

She was following her roommate, searching for goods between racks.

She was following the song, wandering, listening.

White washing powders

Blue jean skirt

Golden shampoo bottle

Shiny brown curls

Garden soda crackers

Soft rosy lips

Shishedo cleansing foam

High cheekbones

And

_Yet those casual daily dialogues were gone—_

"I am finished." She looked up from the shopping basket. "And you? Anything else to buy?"

"No."

"Shall we go?" She moved a step forward.

She nodded and reached for the shopping bag. "Let me help you."

_Thanks._

She felt her eyes were wet by something hot brimming out. It was held back by a sudden start of the bus.

_Loneliness stings my back._

She let out a long breath and opened her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is inspired by the sinophone song 'Sorry. Thanks' by Eason Chan, a Hong Kong singer. I translated and blended several lines from the song in this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Half an hour ago, if she had made up her mind to sprint before the rain became heavy, she might have reached home without wetting her shoes too much. But it was too late. They would get drenched if she decided to leave now.

Heather combed her hair with her hands and quickly made it to a ponytail to fasten the locks blown loose by the wind. The shelter of the bus stop did little to keep the rain off. The wind blew the drizzle to every direction and her fingers felt a cool mist attached onto her hair. She tucked up the knitwear to keep her body temperature from giving off from the space between the collar and her neck while keeping an eye on the numbers of passing buses. There would be another twenty minutes’ endurance of the rain and wind if she shrank her body to keep warm and missed the one that took her home.

The day was shorter in winter. Though the sky started to get dark, lights were not on yet. The only warmth giving out was a lit cigarette in the mouth of the man standing beside her. The orange light flickered along with his inhale and exhale behind the thin cloud of smoke. Her sense of smell seemed to be dulled by the chill air and she was a little surprised that the tabacco didn’t smell as unpleasant as usual.

Pedestrians were dodging small puddles on the road. The drizzle had turned into a heavy rain. One vehicle after another was speeding on the road, breaking the pools near the curbs. She frowned at her toe caps wet by the splash and took a step backward.

She remembered her first pair of school shoes. It was her only pair then. She had no other choice but to wear it the next day even though it got soaked. Rain was common in the South, especially during summer. She stood at the corridor with an umbrella in her hand, waiting for the rain to turn small. The vehicles crowded at the school gate half an hour ago were now almost left. Trickles of rainwater wound their ways on the ground, linking puddles and puddles, merging into pools here and there.

Half an hour ago, if she had made up her mind to sprint before the rain became heavy, she might have reached home without wetting her shoes too much. But it was too late. They would get drenched if she decided to leave now.

She had been observing the other students. They went past her, chatting and giggling. They opened their umbrellas, into the rain, with their shoes on, sending splashes after each step. She saw a pair of girls walk over the puddles. She saw their heels had got wet when they lifted their feet. She saw them both go out of the school, smiling, laughing, and huddling under the umbrella. Weren’t they worried about their shoes getting wet?

Heather bit her bottom lip, looking at her clean white shoes and then the downpour outside. There was one way she could keep her shoes dry all her way home. She bent down, putting away the umbrella, and started to untie her shoelaces. She immediately felt the grains of sands on the floor as she took off her socks and stood on her feet. She opened the umbrella with one hand, and with the other, she quickly stuffed the socks into the shoes and picked them up.

Rain drops beat on her umbrella and sent a tremble through the handle to her right hand holding the umbrella the moment she stepped into the rain. She pulled her shoes closer to her and carefully minded the road ahead.

Water flowed between her toes and the skin tickled when something floating in the water touched her skin. Sands, stones, torn papers, scraps of leaves, broken twigs swirled in the current, their sizes, shapes, weight and texture—all felt so different, not with her eyes, not with her hands. A world she never touched before was under her bare feet. She felt she was like a new born baby, coming out from darkness, and saw the first sunlight. For the first time she felt her footsteps got lighter, and her shoes didn’t bother her too much on a rainy day. The sky opened and the fountain fell and washed everything on earth, tower tops, windows, tiles, creeping, street lights, cars, umbrellas, away with her anxiety and tiredness……

She looked at her wetted toe caps. She had spare shoes at home. She didn’t need to worry. She looked at the pool gathering near the curb. Tips of papers, leaves, twigs, stone grains were struggling up and down, spinning back and forth in the current. They looked the same as those on the day she walked home without her shoes on. But they were different. Something unspeakable was growing inside and she felt an urge to confirm that something. She hadn’t tried this for a long time and she could not remember when the last time she did it was. Four years ago? Ten years ago? Thirteen years ago? Or earlier? It looked stupid for an adult to do this. She had been used to sitting behind and protecting herself from rain and storm, being safe, being assimilated, being ordinary. She glanced around. Cars were rushing one after another, and the man smoking at the other side of the bus stop was staring at somewhere in the street. All of a sudden, the light box at the stop was on, whose yellow light outshone the dimly-lit cigarette in the man’s mouth, cast through the damp air, and finally thinned out afar at the night. Secretly, she reached out to the rain and immediately it dropped on her hand. From her palm rippled a familiar feeling to her heart. The world was still there, she thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so much proofreading this time. Will be under re-edition later.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first time that I have tried writing something, and I still have no idea what direction the story will flow to. Comments are welcomed and highly appreciated! :)


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